


why can't i stay?

by orphan_account



Series: AUgust 2020 - AU Writing Challenge [4]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe-Angel the Series, Demonic Possession, Demons, Despair, Flashbacks, Last Kiss, M/M, Pain, Rebirth, physical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25720384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jack thought that he and Kent finally had a chance to make things right, but now he'll never know what could have been.
Relationships: Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann
Series: AUgust 2020 - AU Writing Challenge [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860460
Kudos: 9





	why can't i stay?

_“Hey Zimms. Didja miss me?”_

It had been so easy, for the first time in such a long, long time, to say “yes.” From the sparkling, real smile on his lips to the way he bounced a little on his toes like he was too excited even to stand still, Jack had looked at him standing there in the doorway to the history lab and been caught by just how much he had, truly, missed Kent Parson.

Jack wished he could hold onto that image now, that bright-eyed and full of life guy he’d known for so long, instead of the sallow, dull-eyed version he held tightly to in his bed. Kent trembled in his arms, breathing gone shallow again, as the demon Maloker continued to take hold and burn away everything inside him that had made him Jack’s first best friend. “Zimms,” Kent managed, a broken whisper, “talk to me. I don’t want—I don’t want to sleep.”

“You need your rest,” Jack said, even though he selfishly didn’t want Kent to sleep yet either. He had no way of knowing if when Kent closed his eyes again, it would be the last time.

Kent laughed a little at that, though it turned into a weak coughing fit. “Gonna have all the beauty sleep I need,” he said, when he’d finished, “soon enough, bud. Can’t you indulge me a little?”

“What do you want me to say?” Jack asked then. He swallowed against a lump of emotion that rose in his throat.

Because there was just so much that he _could_ say. There were so many things that had built up over the years since they’d fallen out and come back together that Jack had thought he’d have all the time in the world to say. He’d told Bittle once that he and Kent owed each other apologies—he’d told Bittle a lot of things about Kent, actually, and some of them were truer than others—should he start there? Should he start with the regrets that he’d shoved into a small box in his heart and tried his best to ignore?

“Kenny, I—"

“—tell me something good,” Kent interrupted, as he turned a little in Jack’s arms to press his face into Jack’s stomach. Like he knew, somehow, that Jack was in his head and didn’t want to make things worse than they were. Funny, though, that it was exactly one of the things Jack regretted about the years they spent fighting. It had taken a long time for Jack to understand that he and Kent weren’t really good for each other at the time, but he’d also come to understand that he’d blamed Kent for not seeing how much Jack was messed up when they were teenagers, even though there hadn’t been any way of Kent actually knowing.

Jack rubbed over Kent’s back soothingly, easily acquiescing to the request. “Something old or something new?” he asked.

“Something old, then something new.”

Jack closed his eyes and when he opened them again and looked down, Kent had done the same. He watched the shallow rise and fall of Kent’s chest for a few moments, taking a little comfort that Kent was still with him for now, before he spoke.

x.x.x.x

_Late May 2009_

Kenny was heavy where he lay flopped on top of Jack on the lawn chair, but Jack wasn’t about to make him move. He was comfortable in their sprawl and pleasantly buzzed on the super cheap champagne left over from celebrating the Memorial Cup win. “You sure you don’t want your own chair, bud?” Jack asked, when Kenny started mouthing at Jack’s bare chest.

“Nah, this is pretty good,” Kenny replied, looking up at Jack through his eyelashes from the awkward angle and grinning. “I mean, as long as you’re comfortable.”

“I’m comfortable,” Jack agreed, before he slid a hand into Kenny’s lightly sweaty curls. “Getting a little hot.” Kenny leered up at him, and Jack blushed. “Not that kind of hot, you perv. My parents will be back soon,” he continued.

“I mean, I could be quick,” Kenny promised. He immediately licked a decidedly unsexy stripe up the stretch of skin he could reach without moving and then made a face. “Fuck, too sweaty.”

Laughing, Jack shoved at him a bit until he flipped over and laid back against Jack’s chest, settling himself in the vee of Jack’s open legs. “I mean, this is only going to make it sweatier…”

“Mmmm, don’t care,” Kenny said as he got himself comfortable and then reached for his glass, what little remained of the bubbly. He downed the last of it and then tossed the glass onto the other lawn chair. “I’m comfy and I wanna stay.”

They didn’t have a whole lot of time left before the NHL Entry Draft, but they had planned on spending all of it together. Thirty-four days total—Jack had starting counting down the morning after their win—before everything changed for them. Thirty-four days total until they went from two dumb kids playing in juniors to professional hockey players, making millions of dollars and securing their spots in history.

Jack didn’t—thinking it about it was hard. Thinking about what came after the thirty-four days was a lot harder than he thought it should be.

But it didn’t matter at the moment. Kenny was there with him, and all they had to do was hang out at Jack’s parents’ lake-house, swimming and cooking out and drinking and lazing away the days and nights.

“I can hear you thinking, Zimms.”

Jack dipped down and pressed a kiss to the top of Kenny’s head. “I’m not thinking,” he murmured.

“Liar,” Kenny accused, but it was soft and fond. He tilted his head so he could meet Jack’s eyes. “What are you thinking about?”

 _This is going to end soon. We’re going to end soon_ , Jack thought. He sighed softly and Kenny seemed to hear something in it because he resituated himself again so that he was basically straddling Jack’s lap to face him. Jack brought his hands up to cup Kenny’s face, and Kenny closed his eyes. “That goal of yours near the end of the second period? Such a beaut,” Jack whispered, before he leaned forward to kiss the smile off Kenny’s lips.

x.x.x.x

“Jack, quick, I think you should hear this,” came Ransom’s voice from the doorway.

Jack carefully withdrew his arms from their embrace of Kenny and settled him back against the pillow. He was still breathing, but only just, and while it pained him to leave Kenny, the urgency in Ransom’s tone brooked no argument. He followed Ransom out the door and down the stairs to where, to his surprise, Bittle and Holster had his research assistant Carl tied up and looking like he’d been roughed up a little in the kitchen. “What the hell am I looking at here?” Jack asked, his heart beating so fast, he thought maybe the guys could actually hear it.

Holster immediately backhanded Carl and then gripped him by the hair, forcing him to look directly at Jack. The violence of it was another surprise, but Jack’s stomach suddenly felt like a stone had been dropped into it. The anxiety ratcheted up even further when Carly opened his mouth in a wide, bloodied grin. “Is it not done yet?”

“Fucking tell him, you piece of shit!” Holster demanded, raising his hand as if to hit Carl again.

“Oh Jack, it’s…oh, lord—” Bittle cut himself off on a soft sob and sank into a chair at Carl’s side.

“Someone had better start talking,” Jack spat, hands curling into fists at his side.

“I take it Maloker has not yet arisen,” Carl then said. “What a shame. But of course, perfection does take time.”

The weight in Jack’s stomach seemed to freeze and a rushing sounded in his ears. “What do you know?” he heard himself ask, though he suddenly felt very far away.

“I know that Maloker will soon be here, and we’ll finally be able to worship him as he has always deserved,” Carl responded. His eyes seemed to glow for a moment, a beatific smile on his face. “Maloker, the Old One, the creator god of those who walk with the night—Maloker, the greatest of all the hell gods, returns to us now.”

“He knew all along, Jack, he fucking—” Ransom cut off on a noise of pain and frustration before continuing, “—Jack, he brought that fucking sarcophagus here on _purpose_. He was going to…he wanted it to take _him_ , but then…then—”

“—Kenny touched it first,” Jack finished for him.

“It’s a shame,” Carl said, “that I couldn’t have been the vessel for the Dark Lord, but I’m grateful that I’ll be here to see—”

Jack slapped him hard across the face, effectively shutting him up.

“But Jack, oh god, there’s, um…more,” Bittle said tremulously. He looked up at Jack with his big brown eyes red-rimmed with sadness. “There’s, um, he said there’s no—”

“—there’s no stopping it now. What is done cannot be undone,” Carl grinned. “Maloker comes.”

“ _Jack?_ ”

Jack glanced back up the stairs. “How long?”

“Soon,” Carl responded. “The glory of Maloker—”

“—get him the fuck out of here,” Ransom interrupted, “I’m fucking sick of hearing his douchebag voice.”

“ _Jack!”_

“Wait—” Jack turned back; he had to ask again, even though in his gut, he knew Carl spoke the truth. “Is there really no way to bring him back?”

“No. Maloker has taken the vessel for his body. The only way to reverse course would be to the doom of you all.” Carl closed his eyes. “Bring the coffin back to the Deeper Well, and kill every single living thing you pass.” He opened his eyes and grinned again, continuing, “Would you rather have one death on your hands or thousands and thousands and thousands?”

_“Jack, where are you?”_

Jack took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, his pounding blood. The answer was clear; but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

x.x.x.x

Kent barely had the strength to lift his head when Jack returned to the bedroom, but when Jack climbed back into the bed, he rolled over so that he could press his face into Jack’s chest, cuddling up as close as he could. “It hurts,” he whispered, and Jack’s heart tore in two.

“I know, bud,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry.”

Funny, how the apologies came so easy now.

“Can you make it—no. No, I won’t—I won’t—” Kent raised his head just enough to look Jack in the eyes again. “I won’t beg. I’m not gonna beg, Jack. Make sure they know. Make sure they know that I didn’t beg.”

Jack swallowed hard, but the tears came anyway. He’d held off long enough. Kent deserved to know how he really felt, no matter how hard it was sometimes to let that show. Kent deserved to know how unfair this was.

Because their future had seemed so bright. They’d began talking again, working on their friendship, forgiving each other for all the hundreds of pains they’d caused each other, even if the actual apologies never actually came. They’d done so much work, and it seemed that they had really turned a corner. Jack had even…he’d thought that maybe with a little time, they could…maybe they could have had—

“Oh, Zimms,” Kent whispered, carefully reaching a hand up to brush his fingers under Jack’s eye, “no please. Don’t cry. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

Jack said nothing, couldn’t say anything. Everything hurt. Everything hurt and it was all so much. It was everything, everything, pressing down on him, pushing him into the earth, taking away everything he’d ever had, everything he’d ever wanted. It hadn’t even felt like this when he’d thought he’d lost everything when he left the Draft. It hadn’t even felt like this when he’d realized that hockey just wasn’t for him anymore, wasn’t good for him, wasn’t going to make him happy. It hadn’t even felt like this when he’d died.

This was more. This was a pain unlike anything he’d ever felt.

Because this was his fault.

“Kenny, I’m so sorry,” he said again. “I’m so, _so_ sorry.”

“Hey, hey…” Kenny said, so faint, so quiet. “It’s okay. You’re good. You’re so good, Zimms.”

“Kenny…”

Kent struggled for a moment, until Jack pulled him up, holding his face in his hands, and Kent smiled at him—weak, soft, but real—and said, “Just don’t forget me, okay?”

“Never—” Jack tried to say, but he couldn’t finish, had to lean forward and kiss Kent fiercely, deeply, uncaring that they weren’t together, uncaring that it had been at least a decade since they had been this close. He kissed him with everything he had, every feeling, every apology, everything he’d ever wanted to say, but couldn’t.

Kent kissed him back, whimpering slightly, and Jack just held him, close and tight, refusing to let go—but then, suddenly, with a loud scream and a jerk backwards, Kent flailed, fell off the bed and disappeared from view.

Jack scrambled off the bed, breathing heavily. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t want to move, didn’t want to face whatever was going to be there on the other side of that bed, knowing that whatever it was, it wasn’t going to be Kenny anymore.

A long moment passed. Jack’s hands made fists at his side again as the seconds ticked by. He braced himself. “Parse?” he called, like a fool.

Kent stood up and turned around. His eyes—so beautiful before in their changing colors—were yellow and slitted like a cat’s, but otherwise he looked, god…he looked the same. He grinned, and the hair at the back of Jack’s neck stood on end. “Hello mortal,” he said, in a low, sensual voice. “Are you a gift for me?”

**Author's Note:**

> Check Please belongs to Ngozi Ukazu. Angel the Series belongs to Joss Whedon and company. Title comes from a quote from the Angel episode "A Hole in the World" which is also where the plot comes from. Today's AU was "angels and demons" and I guess this is close enough, right?


End file.
